


Clarity Calling

by akitsuko



Series: A Series of Incredible Tropes [7]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Coming In Pants, Dry Humping, First Kiss, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Jealous Edward Nygma, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Roommates, Sharing a Room, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27777688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akitsuko/pseuds/akitsuko
Summary: Some tall, muscular, well-groomed imbecile is sitting on his couch, pressed up against Oswald and touching his hair and smiling at him and murmuring things into his ear, and just thinking about it is making Edward feel ill.Edward worries that he can't accept his roommate Oswald's sexuality. Oswald knows him better than that, and offers an alternative explanation.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Series: A Series of Incredible Tropes [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001790
Comments: 18
Kudos: 104





	Clarity Calling

**Author's Note:**

> #7 - Roommates AU
> 
> I really hope I've tagged this enough, there are references to some real not-nice attitudes here.

Until today, Edward has never considered the possibility that he could be homophobic. 

He knows what homophobia looks and sounds like. His father used to throw derogatory slurs around like nobody's business. He would point out 'fairies' in the street and hurl abusive language while Edward would shuffle off to a distance and duck his head from embarrassment and shame. If he ever saw a lesbian couple on television, he would sneer and comment that they 'just needed a good fucking'. Once, Edward had started to develop a close friendship with a boy in his class; he'd been so excited to have a best friend, finally. Then his father had found out and beat him senseless, spitting out that he'd better not be raising 'some kind of queer'. 

Edward had abruptly cut off the friendship, brokenhearted though he was. 

He'd never been anything like his father. He liked girls, and he had a couple of short-term girlfriends in high school, but he wasn't ever bothered about other people's preferences. He never felt the need to stare at same-sex couples in public, and, in stark contrast to his father, he was gratified to see their inclusion in popular culture. Having been stigmatised for the majority of his life because of things he had no control over - his 'weird' demeanour, mostly, although his obscure interests and peculiar approach to socialising didn't help - it pleased him to see instances where others in similar positions were overcoming society's ingrained challenges. 

He's never quite managed to overcome his own struggles. He's developed a habit of diluting himself in front of others, carefully keeping himself to himself, and copying the social cues of those around him rather than relying on his own instincts. It's almost second-nature to him, these days. It's not ideal, and most people still tend to think he's odd, but at least he isn't completely shunned anymore. 

He's always thought of himself as very open-minded, because he knows how difficult it can be to live a world that makes you feel that you have to hide parts of yourself away just to be accepted. 

And then, today, his roommate had brought home a boy (a boyfriend? A hook-up? Edward had no idea) and Edward found himself suddenly, inexplicably, absolutely  _ seething.  _ Furious. Filled with an incredible urge to commit homicide and dismember. Shocked by the intensity of his own reaction, he had promptly excused himself to the bathroom, and here he sits now on the edge of the empty tub, questioning what has always been such a fundamental part of his personality. 

He's known about Oswald's sexual orientation since the day they met, moving in together after agreeing online to share an apartment in order to save on living costs. Oswald had needed a base closer to the city, and Edward had just been desperate to get a fresh start away from his family. It's been a few years now, and they've grown rather close by necessity, but there's nothing forced or false about their friendship. Edward genuinely enjoys Oswald's company, and is amused by his snobby tendencies, as well as his inclination to throw a temper tantrum whenever something doesn't go his way. And he's pretty sure that the feeling is mutual, because Oswald actually treats him like a normal human being, even sometimes indulging his riddles, and constantly praises his cooking. 

The thing is, they've both been single for the entirety of their time living together. 

Sure, they've talked about attractions and romance and the like. Edward has spent a frankly criminal amount of time leaning against the kitchen counter with a strong cup of coffee in his hand while Oswald reclined on the couch and lamented his inability to find a decent man. It's all for show though, because Edward knows that Oswald is far more invested in progressing his career than embarking on any kind of relationship. He's just a bit of an attention seeker.

For his part, Edward has talked about his relationship - or lack thereof - with Kristen, from his work. He's developed a bit of an infatuation with her. She's beautiful, and smart, and she's kind to him, which is more than can be said of most people in his life. Unfortunately, she seems to be oblivious to any and all of Edward's advances, whether that's purposeful or not, and that has left Edward rather at a stalemate with himself. He's not brave enough to be bluntly forthcoming, no matter how unsuccessful he is with his more subtle approach. So he moans about that, and Oswald actually listens to him, offering consolation no matter how many times he tells the same stories. 

But it's all been hypothetical. Theoretical. There's never been an actual, physical person attached to any of the anecdotes. 

Now there is. Some tall, muscular, well-groomed imbecile is sitting on his couch, pressed up against Oswald and touching his hair and smiling at him and murmuring things into his ear, and just thinking about it is making him feel ill. 

_ No,  _ Edward repeats to himself in his thoughts.  _ I am not like him. I am not like him. I am not like him.  _

He tugs at his own hair in an attempt to keep himself grounded in reality, otherwise he knows he's in danger of disappearing into his mind, a slave to introspection. He counts the tiles on the vinyl floor, forces himself to notice that he can smell the remnants of bleach. 

He's always been determined to be nothing like his father in any way whatsoever. This response to Oswald's…  _ companion,  _ no matter how involuntary, feels like a betrayal of himself. It makes him wonder just how much of his personality has been forged by his environment and how much of it is innate, impossible to change. 

If he's destined to share this disgusting intolerance with his father despite his best efforts, then perhaps he ought to just throw himself out of the window right now and save himself a lifetime of shame.

Oswald, too. He deserves better than a friend who can't accept his lifestyle. He's confident enough that he doesn't need Edward's approval, that's for sure. 

Edward stands up abruptly, leaving the bathroom and making a beeline for their bedroom, closing the door securely behind him once he's inside. He finds himself thankful that one of their agreed rules for shared living is that there's to be no funny business with a partner while both of them are at home, not that they've ever really needed it. At least he can be sure that he won't accidentally walk in on Oswald and his companion doing anything untoward. 

The bedroom is big enough that their beds can be at opposite ends with a decent amount of space in between. He takes off his glasses, dropping them on the bedside table before flopping down onto his own bed, heaving a heavy and overly dramatic sigh. He can't understand why he's so worked up over this. He's never had a problem with anything like this before, so why should he have a problem now? It's distressing to have his world flipped on its axis, and he hates himself even more than usual. 

Oswald has been his second chance at having a best friend, and there's been no one around this time to spoil It. Now it seems that he's going to manage that all by himself, because he's certain that Oswald will soon want nothing more to do with him. 

This isn't how he wants to be. 

He stays where he is for some time, his thoughts circling uselessly, until he decides that he's not done trying to eradicate all traces of his father from himself. He sits up with renewed purpose, puts his glasses back on and retrieves his laptop, settling back comfortably with it against his headboard. 

He'd been worried about spiralling into his own mind, but online research is a deeper rabbit hole by far, and much easier to get lost in. He reads articles about individuals who have changed their lifelong social prejudices, he reads about perspectives on homophobic attitudes and their origins, he reads about the history of social justice movements and their impacts on the wider community. The better he understands a problem, he theories, the better equipped he will be to come to a solution. 

He thinks he's making progress. Then Oswald comes barging into the room, and Edward's brain unhelpfully conjures a detailed image of the young man he brought home with him, and his whole mood sours immediately. So much for that. 

"Have you really been hiding in here for the last three hours?" Oswald asks him, and he's about to make a snarky reply about exaggerations when he sees that the sky outside has indeed turned black and inky, where it was daylight when he first came in. He has clearly been more engrossed in his research than he'd realised. 

"I wasn't hiding," is the petulant response he opts for instead, minimising all his tabs and closing his laptop lid just in case Oswald tries to sneak a peek at what he's been doing. "Where's your friend?" 

Oswald waves his hand dismissively. "Oh, he left ages ago. He was only waiting here until he needed to catch his bus. So, what have you been doing if not hiding?" 

"Just stuff," Edward replies defensively, although he can't deny the relief he feels to know that the stranger is safely far away from their apartment. "Are you going to tell me who he was?" 

Oswald raises an eyebrow at his tone, sitting on the edge of Edward's mattress and leaning back on his hands. "He's a frequent patron of the club I work at. A bit handsy, but he's not so bad. I bumped into him on my way home, and I invited him in so that he wouldn't be standing at the bus stop in the rain. All of which, you would already know if you hadn't pulled that disappearing act."

There's an accusation there, although Edward isn't exactly sure what he's being accused of.

"So he's not your…  _ boyfriend?"  _ His lip curls unpleasantly around the word, and Oswald notices. 

"There's no need to sound so grossed out," he says, some of that fire rising into his eyes, ready for a fight if that's where this is going to go. Edward hopes that it doesn't, because he won't stand a chance if it does. "What's the matter with you?" 

"Nothing. I just didn't like him. He gave me bad vibes."

Oswald scoffs. "'Bad vibes'? Are you hearing yourself?" 

Admittedly, it's not the sort of thing he would normally say, so he can't really blame Oswald for suspecting that there's something he isn't telling him. Right now, though it just puts him on a more defensive footing. 

"Yes, Oswald. Bad vibes. That's a thing that people say."

Oswald looks at him strangely for a few long moments, those piercing eyes seeing right through to his guilty soul. "If this is some weird new kind of riddle, then I don't get it. But whatever. I came in to ask if you wanted to order something in for dinner tonight? It's on me." 

Edward can't deny that he's hungry, because he hasn't eaten for quite a few hours now, and his stomach grumbles at the mere mention of food, but he's in no mood to eat right now.

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry."

Oswald nods slightly, as if to himself. "Right," he says, and then spins so that he's sitting fully on the bed, legs crossed, facing Edward. "OK. There's clearly something up with you, and it's making you grouchy. Did something happen with that woman you've been making eyes at?" 

"Her name is Kristen." For some reason, Oswald is awful at remembering, and needs to be reminded what her name is every time they talk about her. "And no, she's not done anything."

"What is it, then?" Oswald asks, for all intents and purposes giving the impression that he's settled in for a good, long gossip. "No one's giving you a hard time at work, are they?" 

Oswald's concern about his wellbeing makes Edward feel sick with self-disgust. Oswald knows, and has always known, that Edward struggles to fit in and feel accepted in his surroundings. He makes it his business to do whatever he can to ensure that Edward doesn't feel persecuted just for being himself. 

"No more than usual," he answers, as he starts to pick absently at his nails, an old habit he never quite grew out of that manifests whenever he feels uneasy. 

Oswald doesn't look convinced. "I will come down there and have a stern word with the relevant parties, if you ever want me to. You know, I can be rather charming and persuasive when I put my mind to it."

Snorting, Edward shakes his head. He knows only too well how Oswald can exude charisma when he's trying to achieve something. 

"I appreciate the offer, but there's no need for that."

Oswald just sits and regards him for a while, long enough that Edward has to consciously resist the urge to fidget under the scrutiny. He does this sometimes, when Edward isn't feeling especially talkative, as if staring hard enough with that perceptive gaze will tell him exactly what's going on inside Edward's head. Usually, he's far too accurate for Edward's comfort. How he can read him so easily from his body language alone is frankly astounding, an impressive testament to how well he really knows Edward. 

To be fair, Edward is pretty good at reading Oswald too. He's honed his skill of predicting Oswald's mood swings to a fine art; he can see a fit of rage coming from a twitch in his lips, and a few extra crinkles at the corners of his eyes mean he's had some good news, to list a couple of examples. 

For once, Edward hopes Oswald will come up against a brick wall in his examination, and stop trying to press the issue. 

No such luck. 

"He's really rubbed you the wrong way, hasn't he?" 

Edward doesn't answer, fully aware that his face is saying more than he wants it to. How is he supposed to explain that, while he can deal with hearing about Oswald lusting over men, he's realised that he can't handle actually seeing it in the flesh? There's no way to put that without sounding despicably judgemental. 

But Oswald keeps looking at him with that inquisitive gaze, leaning ever closer with his elbows on his knees, like he's trying to pick apart the details in his soul. 

"I don't get it," he says. "You were in the room for two minutes, tops, before you ran off. What could he have possibly done to offend you so much in such a short time? You didn't even speak to each other beyond a quick greeting."

Realising that Oswald is not going to drop this subject until he has a satisfactory answer, Edward crafts his next sentences very carefully.

"I was uncomfortable with how amorous he was being towards you. I'm not used to seeing physical displays of affection." 

Edward hopes that this will be enough to divert Oswald away from the full truth of just how sick and angry he felt. It's not exactly a lie, after all. Growing up, his parents were rarely, if ever, affectionate with each other. And thanks to his poor social life, it's rare enough that he's in the company of a single person (except for Oswald), never mind a couple. 

He's always found himself cringing with second-hand embarrassment on the odd occasions that he has found himself in the company of physically affectionate couples. He would much rather that they kept their hands and mouths to themselves in public places, saving their kisses and touches for settings affording more privacy. 

Unfortunately, his comment only seems to have increased Oswald's concern, not to mention confusing him a touch. 

"I would hardly have called it affectionate," Oswald says, trying for levity but clearly also choosing his words with care. "He's just more of a touchy-feely person. He would have been like that with anyone."

"Then you clearly didn't see how he was looking at you," Edward mutters before he can stop himself, immediately wishing he could take it back before Oswald has a chance to hear the sulking bitterness in his voice. 

But Oswald is far too smart to have missed it, and his eyes widen in surprise. When Edward glances up at him, he can practically see the cogs turning in his head, putting the pieces of this particular puzzle together, and he dreads the inevitable moment that it all clicks into place. 

He waits, for several agonising seconds, until he sees understanding flit across Oswald's features, which slowly remould into a smirk. 

"You're jealous."

Edward's brain skitters to a stop, thrown by the completely unexpected reaction, before jolting back into action. 

"I am not jealous."

Oswald sniggers, far too amused by something that's been causing Edward grief all afternoon, and something snaps in Edward's self-control as he, to his internal horror, begins to spill his guts. 

"You really want to know? It made me feel ill seeing you two together. I always thought I was nothing like the rest of my bigoted family, but it turns out that I'm not so different after all. I couldn't even look at the two of you. He had his hands on you, and he was looking at you, and God, it made me so angry. I never expected that it would bother me, but today it did, and I hate myself for it but I can't help it. I actually wanted to kill him. I couldn't bear to be in the same room with both of you."

He expects that Oswald will, quite rightly, lose his temper. Kick him out, demand that he find himself somewhere else to live. He's already thinking about where he will start looking, because he refuses to go back to his parents' house, when he sees that Oswald in fact looks even more amused than he did before. That shit-eating grin is taking over his face, like he's in on some kind of joke that Edward doesn't understand. 

"Oh, Eddie," he says, shaking his head slightly, an odd kind of exasperated fondness in his eyes. "You'll be the death of yourself. You may be many things, but a homophobe isn't one of them."

This is not the reaction Edward had expected. He furrows his brows and, for the first time, actually considers Oswald's alternative explanation. Could he really be jealous? He supposes that it would be easy for the signs of jealousy and homophobia to overlap quite significantly, and it would explain why he's never felt this way before. 

Except… That would mean that he… 

He feels the blood drain from his face as the further implications become apparent to him, particularly in light of the way that Oswald is still looking at him, and he fumbles for something to say. 

"I hated seeing him so close to you," he finally opts for, defensive and yet unsure of himself, and also somewhat bewildered with himself that for some reason he hasn't clamped onto the option that would effectively disprove the unfavourable stance on sexual preferences. "I could have disemboweled him." 

Oswald has the gall to actually laugh. "For someone so intelligent, you sure can be dumb. Listen to yourself. I don't know who you're trying to convince, but you're going to have to try harder than that. I know you better than anyone, Ed. This is textbook jealousy."

Edward grits his teeth. For some reason, the jealousy pill feels just as bitter to swallow as the intolerance. He doesn't like being taken by surprise, least of all by himself. 

Being jealous of that guy would essentially mean that he wants to keep Oswald all to himself. It's not that he has a problem with men; it's that he has a problem with men  _ other than himself.  _ Despite the similarities in their manifestation, the difference is night and day between the two. 

He thinks of Kristen, and confirms in his own head that he definitely still finds her attractive. He's never been attracted to a man before. Or, he's never noticed. Could it be that he was so comfortable in his attraction to women that he's simply ignored an additional attraction to men? Perhaps he's been dismissing it as admiration or platonic appreciation of good looks, when he ought to have been paying more attention to the feelings under the surface? 

It's possible - probable, in fact - that his father's outspoken prejudices caused him to subconsciously suppress his own preferences, choosing only to explore within a designated safe zone. 

Could it really be possible that he's actually wanted Oswald, as more than a friend, for all this time without even acknowledging it? 

It seems far-fetched and ridiculous as a theory, but as he looks at Oswald now with a mind open to this new possibility, he realises that it might just be true. 

He's always thought that Oswald has the most beautiful eyes, bright and expressive and captivating. He carries himself with a self-assurance that Edward could never hope to possess himself. Edward has accepted him despite his many flaws, never once doubting that Oswald was fundamentally worthwhile to be around. 

Oswald shuffles forwards, closer to him, breaking him out of his thought process. "This really is a revelation for you," he says, as if he doesn't quite believe that anyone could miss something so obvious about themselves. 

Edward isn't sure that he believes it either. 

"How do you know?" he eventually asks Oswald, quiet but forcing the question out nevertheless. "How am I supposed to know?" 

To anyone else, it would likely seem to be a strange question, but Oswald has always understood him, even when he doesn't quite understand himself. They have a close enough bond that Edward feels safe asking, which, he realises, is something else that he's going to need to reexamine. 

Oswald licks his lips as he thinks about his answer, then he says, "There is a way to test it. If you like."

"How?" 

"Kiss me."

Edward's shock at the suggestion must be written all over his face, because Oswald hastens to explain further. 

"I mean, if you enjoy it, then that will rather conclusively speak for itself," he says. "And if you don't, well, at least you'll have a better idea of how you feel. What do you think?" 

"I…" Honestly, Edward isn't sure what he thinks. The idea of kissing Oswald has never once crossed his mind before, but now that it's been suggested, he seems unable to consider anything else. How would Oswald's lips feel? What would he taste like? Would it feel different to kissing a woman? 

In another surprise to himself, he finds that he's not in the least repulsed by the idea. Rather, he's curious. Intrigued. He looks at Oswald's lips without meaning to, and feels himself start to blush as he quickly looks away again. 

"You don't have to, obviously," Oswald tells him. "But there would be no strings, no consequences, in case that's what you're worried about."

"I want to," Edward hears himself saying as he leans forward. "I want to know. Kiss me, Oswald."

Oswald's breath hitches, and then he's leaning forward too, tilting his head to meet Edward's lips in the middle. 

It's nothing but a press of lips, dry and soft and reserved. Edward closes his eyes as he assesses, and very soon realises that logical thought is quite useless here. It requires no effort for him to know that he's enjoying this very much. It feels right to be close to Oswald like this, to feel his breath against his face. And when Oswald pulls back again, he finds himself missing the contact, craving the touch that he suddenly feels starved for. 

"Well?" Oswald prompts him. "Are you still feeling sick?" 

"No," Edward replies, more confident again now, allowing his gaze to drop back to Oswald's lips. "Quite the opposite, in fact."

Oswald smirks at him again. "Told you so."

"Shut up," Edward says, unable to come up with anything wittier while his brain is preoccupied. "Can I kiss you again?" 

"There's nothing I would like more." 

Oswald leans back into his space, then they're kissing again, but it's more real this time, less experimental than the first time. One of Oswald's hands comes up to thread into the hair at the back of Edward's head, keeping him in place, and he hears himself mewl against Oswald's mouth in response. 

Edward has always been remarkably good at adapting to change, but this has effectively flipped his entire world on its head. Now that he's started kissing Oswald, he finds that he never wants to stop because it feels  _ so good _ . How has doing this never even occurred to him as a possibility before? How has he been so wilfully blind when it comes to his own identity? His mind reels with the conflict between his past and his immediate present, both blurred to background noise from the joy of having Oswald's lips pressed against his own so deliciously. 

Then Oswald's tongue swipes across his bottom lip, and the sensation sears him so suddenly that he's overwhelmed with a torrent of repressed desires, all clamouring for attention at the front of his consciousness with such fervour that he can't even hope to guide them towards coherency. But he doesn't need coherent thoughts to know that he wants to feel Oswald's tongue again, so he pokes his own out to mimic Oswald's movement, and Oswald's come back dutifully to meet him. 

Belatedly, Edward realises that his arms are hanging uselessly at his sides, and he brings his shaky hands to grasp Oswald's shoulders. As if spurred on, Oswald devours him with practiced ease, licking around his palate and teeth, biting on Edward's lip and drawing it into his own mouth for a moment before releasing it with a pop and diving back in. 

Edward feels like he's being carried along on a cyclone, moaning helplessly as he allows Oswald to claim his mouth as thoroughly as he sees fit. When Oswald eventually retreats a few inches and gives him room to catch his breath, he's caught once again in that alluring gaze, and he wonders how he ever convinced himself that he wasn't attracted to it. He maintains his tight grip on Oswald's shoulders, and he can feel Oswald's fingertips stroking the back of his scalp. 

"Anything else you want, Eddie?" It's gratifying to hear that Oswald's voice seems to have dropped an octave. "Anything at all."

"Come back," Edward says, his own voice hoarse and croaky, drawing Oswald back in and feeling the relieved huff of breath against his lips before they're kissing again. 

Edward lets himself get lost in it, like the apartment could collapse around them and it wouldn't matter as long as Oswald keeps kissing him. Too soon, Oswald pulls away again, and Edward doesn't have the presence of mind to bite back an unhappy whine at the loss of contact. 

But Oswald simply shifts onto his hands and knees, and says, "Lie back." 

Heat and anticipation rushing through his veins, Edward scrambles to comply, shoving his laptop off to one side as he adjusts his position. Oswald follows him, crawling across his body until he's caged by Oswald's limbs. They stay like that, just for a moment, searching for visual confirmation that this is OK, that this is allowed, before Oswald lowers himself to press his entire body flush with Edward's, and drops his head to indulge in more kissing. 

The warmth and the weight of him is like nothing Edward has ever imagined. He's solid and hot where they're pressed together, their chests and their hips and thighs, feet winding into a tangle. Edward's heart is pounding a mile a minute. He wraps his arms around Oswald's waist to hold him close, eliciting a lovely sound from his throat. Then Oswald rolls his hips, and Edward can't help but buck up against him, his breath leaving him in a rush as arousal ripples through his body. 

He clenches his fingers in Oswald's shirt, whimpering as Oswald repeats the motion over and over again, tearing away from his mouth to kiss along his jaw and nip at his earlobe. His toes curl, he can feel himself getting hard in his pants, and suddenly he wonders what on earth he's doing. He's making out with his best friend, and it feels amazing, even though just a short time ago he had convinced himself that he was homophobic. 

He's equally sure now that that's not the case, but it's a lot of reevaluation to do in a single day, and he grips Oswald tighter as if to anchor himself in reality. "Oswald… I

I don't understand…"

Oswald's mouth is hot against his ear as his body continues to undulate. It makes it very difficult for Edward to think properly. "You don't have to understand everything all the time. Do you want me to stop?" 

"No!" Edward holds him closer at the mere suggestion. This feels good enough that his body can make the decisions for him. 

"Then I won't." Oswald lifts his head, pressing a peck to Edward's lips before cupping his face with a gentleness that makes Edward shudder. "I like you, Ed. I like you a lot. If I'd known…"

"How could you have known?" Edward asks. "I didn't know myself." 

Oswald smiles at him, a fond and yet nervous look as he strokes a thumb across Edward's brow. "Well, I'm all for helping you to learn new things."

"You like me?" 

"Very much."

"I… I don't know how I feel," Edward says honestly. "This is all so unexpected."

Oswald kisses him again. "That's OK, I get it. Just enjoy yourself, for now, and you can figure out your feelings later."

A particularly nice movement of Oswald's hips has Edward pushing back up against him, chasing the sensation that has him slowly losing his mind. "Is this really alright?" he managed to say between the pulses of arousal that are clouding his brain. 

"I've got you, my friend," Oswald tells him. "I told you, anything you want, it's yours."

Edward feels a sudden and inexplicable urge to cry. He cranes his head for a kiss as a distraction, and when they break apart again, he says, "This. More of this."

With a groan, Oswald reattaches himself to Edward's lips, and this time he doesn't pull back for more than an instant. It's as if he can't get enough of the taste of Edward's mouth, and Edward has to admit, the feeling is mutual. Oswald is addictive. He's had a taste and now he's hooked, already consumed by the thought of being this close to him again and again and again. 

Oswald repositions his lower body, forcing a gasp out of Edward as he feels Oswald's equally hard dick pressed against his own through the layers of their clothes. Now, that's a sensation he's certainly never felt before, and his jaw trembles with it, vision hazing as he tilts his own hips up, encouraging and wanting. Oswald obliges him, of course he does, rubbing against him with a steadier rhythm and clearer intent, all the while continuing to kiss him to the brink of his sanity. 

It's so good. So,  _ so _ good. Edward loses himself to Oswald as they rut against each other like teenagers, although Edward is pretty sure he's never felt anything like this even when he was a teenager. When Oswald bites his lip again, he moans loudly, eyes squeezing shut as the sensations all start building to their inevitable crescendo. 

"Eddie, oh god-" 

Oswald's body spasms against him, and he realises with delayed surprise that this is Oswald's climax, that he's reached the peak of physical pleasure because of  _ him _ , and oh, that feels more satisfying than it has any right to. Even as Oswald rides the waves of his orgasm, Edward picks up the pace of his own thrusts, propelling himself closer and closer until he comes too, with Oswald's name on his lips and explosions of white light in his eyes.

Oswald continues to lie on top of him while they both pant and try to catch their breath. Edward feels like this is the time when he might normally start falling into an existential panic, but he's too boneless for that, too content with the weight of Oswald anchoring him to the mattress to do anything but bask in the afterglow. He keeps his arms wrapped loosely around Oswald, almost afraid to move and burst the little bubble of calm that they've fallen into. 

It's Oswald who moves first, giving him another lingering kiss before shifting off to one side, almost rolling off the side of the bed as he does. It's not built to accommodate two grown men at once. He curls himself against Edward's side instead, but he doesn't say anything, which makes Edward feel compelled to break the silence. 

"Did you know that having an orgasm burns around three calories?" 

He regrets it as soon as he says it, he  _ knows _ it was the wrong thing to say, but Oswald chuckles, and Edward feels his body rocking with it. 

"How do you know this sort of crap?" 

It feels like a joke, but Edward doesn't know the right answer, so he just shrugs awkwardly. "I just do, I suppose."

Oswald shakes his head, his hair tickling Edward's neck. "You're such a dork." 

Then he comes up and kisses Edward so softly that it's almost like a dream, and his expression is openly adoring when he pulls away. Edward finds himself thinking he could get used to seeing Oswald look at him like that, and it makes him blush.

"I really hope you keep letting me do that."

Fighting against the increasing intensity of his blush, Edward replies, "I hope you keep wanting to."

His feelings are becoming clearer to him by the second, now that the post-orgasmic bliss is starting to fade, but this is the closest he can come to saying it right now. It's still too brand new, and he needs to square it in his own mind first. It's just another change to adapt to, he tells himself. Except it's not really a change at all, more of a realisation and an acceptance. And he can't deny that acknowledging this new truth about himself is already bringing him more peace than he's felt in a long time. 

Oswald's smile, gazing at him like he's something special, is helping too. 

Then Oswald says, "Are you hungry yet?" 

Edward's stomach growls, insistently reminding him that it still exists. "Starving."

"Right." Oswald stands up with a grimace. "I'm going to change my pants, because that feels revolting, and I recommend that you do the same. Then I'll go and grab a menu, because I was serious when I said that take-out is on me tonight. Do you want Chinese, or pizza?" 

The effortlessness with which Oswald slips back into their domestic dynamic after what they've just done has Edward in awe. Perhaps one day, if this becomes something more permanent after he's figured himself out fully, he will be able to be that breezy too. 

Until then, he decides, this is nice. This is enough. 

"Chinese," he says. "Make sure they hold the onions this time."

Oswald looks at him in faux offence. "You really think, after all this time living with you, that I don't know about your hatred of onions? I always ask. It's not my fault if they still get it wrong."

"I thought you prided yourself on your ability to persuade?" Edward teases, relieved beyond measure that Oswald makes it so easy not to feel awkward. 

"That I do," Oswald replies as he makes his way across to his side of the room, flinging open the doors of his wardrobe dramatically. "Just for you, I'll make an extra special effort."

Edward grins. Yes, this is definitely enough for now. 


End file.
